


Waxwork

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: BDSM, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, S&M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-12-03
Updated: 1999-12-03
Packaged: 2018-11-10 12:30:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11127036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: Fun by candlelight





	Waxwork

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

Disclaimers: Not mine. Just borrowing. No $ earned.

Warnings: NC-17, kinky with just a touch of blood

Pairing: Fraser/Kowalski

Summary: Just for fun. All this talk of kinks got me thinking.... Go ahead; try and find a plot. 

Commentary to:

Waxwork

Barbara J. Webb

Flickering lights and an unlocked door, means Fraser's here and he's got something planned. Candles. Always a sign he's in some sorta mood when out come the candles. Sometimes romantic, which can be nice, or other times means kinky, which isn't quite what you'd expect from Mr. It-only-takes-an-extra-minute-to-be-polite, but certainly nothing I'm gonna bitch about.

Tonight, it seems kinky is in, and nobody's gonna hear me complaining. When I come in the door, he's sitting at the table, sharpening that big knife of his, and hanging off the back of his chair are those thick, leather wrist and ankle restraints that about gave me a heart attack first time he pulled 'em outta his footlocker, and that was even before I noticed the color exactly matched his boots, and wondered if he'd had 'em made that way. 

"Hey, Frase." Candles all over the place, and in the bedroom too. When he's feeling especially sweet, or especially cruel, it's always with the candles. Don't get that, but you hear me argue? Didn't think so. 

"Good evening, Ray." All polite, all calm. Not ready to start yet. He always gives me a little bit of time to relax, settle in. Get rid of any baggage for the day, put the office - the entire city out of mind. One hundred percent grade-A thoughtful, my Fraser.

Course, don't think it's escaped his attention, how hot I get just piddling around, waiting for him to tell me what he's got planned. No, I think that's all part of his scheme too. Smart guy, that Mountie. 

Dief is in the kitchen, gnawing on a t-bone - leftovers from last night's supper. "Hey, you got any dinner plans?" Sometimes we eat first. Sometimes we eat after. Sometimes - and, yeah, these are the ones I like the best, he feeds me while he's got me all tied down, licks off anything that spills, lets me suck his fingers....

"I haven't entirely decided yet."

Different. Usually by now Fraser has it all planned out, top to bottom, in to out. Fraser plans; that's what he does. Me, I don't even watch the weather channel in the morning. If Fraser doesn't know yet, then there's something up, something different. Don't know what - not yet - he'll probably tell me. Maybe. Sometimes he doesn't, just surprises me, and sometimes those are the best times.

So I just shrug. "No biggie." I unhook the shoulder holster, drape it over a hook behind the door, automatically checking to make sure the safety's on. Fraser's still at the table, scraping the knife against his thumbnail to test its edge. "Sharp enough for ya?" 

"Yes, I believe it is." He sets it down on the table, takes a deep breath, and there's this...change. An intensity, maybe, an energy that wasn't there before. Instantly, my heart shifts into fifth gear, an my skin gets all warm, cause I know what that means.

He stands up, turns to face me where I'm leaning over the counter. "I think we'll eat after, unless you're starving."

Starving, yeah, but not for food. Not when he looks at me like that. "Later's good. Fine. Greatness."

"Very good." He comes towards me, moves like a cat prowling, hunting down its prey. Comes in real close, leans real close, and I can't turn away, cause those deep blue eyes are keeping me from moving. Fraser is *on* tonight, and I can see it on his face, hear it in his voice, feel it in the energy that seems to pulse off him, held in check by that super Mountie control. A little closer, and his lips just brush against mine. "Now go undress and wait for me."

Doesn't have to ask me twice. I got my shirt off before I'm to the bedroom door; everything else kicked into a corner as I do a bellyflop onto the bed, twist around as I bounce up, and land happy on my back. Hard to keep still, waiting. Hate waiting. Fraser likes to make me wait. 

There's candles all around in here too, making it light, even though the lights are out. And warm, even with me naked. Feels good, all golden \- can you feel a color? If you could, this is what it would feel like.

"Fraser, you gonna be joinin' me tonight?"

"One more moment, Ray." I can hear him in the kitchen doing...something. Doubtless, if I had Mountie-ears, I'd know exactly what he was shifting around, although I'd probably need a Mountie-brain to decipher what he's gonna use it for. Course, for all I know, he's just washing dishes so the place isn't untidy. 

Such a thing as being too neat, sometimes.

But seems he had some sorta purpose, cause when he comes in here he's got a cup of something that he sets on the windowsill, too far away for me to see what it is without getting up, but he's sitting on the edge of the bed with a hand on my chest - unspoken command to just lie there. Which I do, mostly, while he runs his fingers over my chest, like he's reading braille or something. Mostly, because I'm not all that good at holding still, never was, but Fraser never seems to mind that I squirm a little..

Not that I'm sure what he'd do if he did mind. We've never really talked about any of this. Not since the first time, when I saw the cuffs lying there in his chest, and I asked him what they were for, and he just gave me this *look*, and then I admitted that I knew what they were for, and that was that. Only we started doing....

He's closing the leather restraints around my wrists and ankles. Even though the outsides are stiff, the inside feels soft and buttery against my skin - carefully tended by Fraser. My arms are pulled behind me, wrists held together by the soft, supple leather, and my ankles cross as he snaps the d-rings together. I can't keep from pulling at it, testing the bonds, but they're secure, solid - Moutie-precise. 

Now's when my heart really starts going, cause now there's nothing I can do. Once upon a time, I never would have thought this would be so hot with Fraser - I mean, how can you really be afraid of Fraser? Yeah, sure, this is all a game, but there's gotta be some level of you where you believe something bad could happen - some part of you that's afraid. And I mean, well...Fraser.

But he's different, now, when we're like this. There's something there in his eyes, something dangerous, predatory. Almost like he could do anything, and it's that look, the hunger, the dark amusement, the raw animal lust that makes me shiver, makes my skin go tingly, and my breathing all shallow.

Or maybe it's the fact he doesn't play by the rules. None of those little safety tips all the veterans'll start drilling into your head the minute you start hanging out in the bars. No negotiation, no limits, no safeword. Fraser does what Fraser does, no matter how much I protest, and that makes it all hotter. Even though it's always good, even though I don't mean it when I tell him to stop, maybe someday that won't be true, and there'd be nothing I could do about it.

And it's so fucking hot - crazy sexy like I never imagined anything could be. 

"Whatcha gonna do, Frase? Huh? C'mon, tell me."

His forehead creases, like I'm distracting him or something. Don't know what I'm distracting him from - he's got me naked and tied up, and he seems lost in deep Fraserthought. "What's going through that Mountie head?"

"A gag, I think. I don't want to disturb the neighbors."

Once or twice, Fraser's done that before. Usually when he thinks I'm gonna scream lots. Usually a good sign for me, Fraser thinking I'm going to be screaming. Usually he's right. Still, it shoots the old adrenaline up just a point or two higher, taking away any chance I might have of making my objections to anything heard. 

Like I wasn't having enough trouble catching my breath. Ball gag \- something else I was once surprised to discover Fraser just happened to have on hand. Not anymore. 

Once again, Mountie-perfect. No worries of strangulation or anything, no health concerns at all, cept for the ever-present danger of a heart attack when Fraser kisses me over the gag and all casual-like presses a finger against my ass.

But not inside, not yet, and no amount of twisting moves that finger where I want it to go. Didn't figure it would. Not yet.

Love the smells. Candles burning, musky-Fraser smell, the leather right under my nose. Good smells. Sex smells. Ray Kowalski's gonna get laid but good kinda smells.

And all the feelings, sensations. Pockets of warmth from the candles all around me, settling in close when I'm still, escaping into a cooler breeze when I move. The almost-scratchy feel of my blanket under my back, my fingers, my legs. The way my body's so awake right now I think I can feel every ridge of Fraser's calloused fingers as he runs them down the back of my thighs. The stiff-soft leather that rubs against my wrists on the inside and my back on the outside as I try - and fail \- to guide the direction of Fraser's hand. 

That sweater looks awfully good on Fraser. Wonder how I could have missed that before. Maybe it's the lighting, but that thick white turtleneck \- almost golden in the candlelight - like I feel, golden. Sparkly. Crackling.

Ready.

Don't know what Fraser has planned, but I'm pretty sure this is just foreplay. Pretty tame stuff for that look he had in his eyes. Just Fraser making me wait, making me wonder. 

Can't taste anything but leather and rubber - the gag. Not bad tastes at all - especially the leather. And there's something else, a taste of me, from other times I've worn them. Faint, but there. Left my mark on it, my saliva, my teeth leaving little indentations - this thing, changed by the combination of Fraser and me. 

No sounds in here, cept for me breathing and Fraser moving. No music. Never music, which is fine by me. At clubs and stuff, it can add energy to a scene, but here, Fraser and me, we don't need any extra energy. Besides, it can get distracting. I start listening to it - can't help listening, and then I want to move to it, and then my attention just gets all divided. 

Better to just have Fraser to focus on, to listen to. Sometimes, I think I can almost hear his heart beating, when we're really close, or really into things. 

Where's he going? Where's he going? I twist around, trying to follow him with my eyes, but he leaves the room. Comes back with one of the candles from out in the main room. Like we don't have enough in here already. Only this one he doesn't put down, just comes over and stands above me. Big, thick white candle, somewhere between pillar and taper. The kinda thing Stella never meant when she asked me to pick up candles, cause it's a lot more functional than decorative.

My whole stomach tries to pull into my body as a drip of hot wax falls right over my belly-button. If I could talk, I'd tell Fraser to be careful, that if he doesn't hold that candle perfectly upright, it's gonna drip again -

Again, on my stomach. Hurts, hot, sting.

\- oh. I get it. A bit slow, but not completely dumb. Fraser knows exactly how he's holding that candle.

Another drop. Okay, okay, breathe. Not so bad. Candles up high; wax isn't so hot when it hits. Just a sting. Not so bad as a bee, and it goes away right like that. Never done this before, never been into the pain thing, but even if I could talk, I couldn't make Fraser stop, so better to just ride it-

Stings. Four drops now, and I can still feel where every one hit, close to each other. Can still feel the wax there, the warm. And I tense up for the fifth drop, but it doesn't come when I expect it. Fraser changing the rhythm on me. Not fair-

There it is. Not when I was expecting. Not where I was expecting. Right in the middle of my chest. 

Fraser's got a hand on my shoulder, keeping me from rolling away. Not sure how I feel about this yet, but my body sure wants to be away. "Ray, Ray listen to me. Hold still. If you keep struggling, and I have to hold you, it's going to be difficult to keep all the wax from pouring onto you at once."

So that's incentive. I tell my body firmly it isn't going anywhere, and I think maybe it's going to listen to me here. Maybe. 

Only Fraser, he's not helping. Just tilts the candle over and leaves a line of wax down from my sternum to below my ribs. So quick, when my body flips up of its own accord, it doesn't even mess up his perfect line.

And Jesus, my dick is hard. Really, really hard and dripping. Guess it hasn't gotten the news that the rest of me thinks this hurts. Or maybe it just doesn't care. 

Fraser's waiting again, and I'm not seeing very clearly as I twist and the cooling wax pulls against my heat-sensitized skin. Never felt anything like this. 

"Do you know how you look right now?" I can't really answer this, not being able to talk, and having pretty much lost the precise motor control necessary to shake my head. Not that Fraser seems to expect an answer. He continues on, just talking, because Fraser can always string some pretty sentences together - not like me, who has trouble talking at the best of times, and wouldn't be any more coherent without the rubber ball in my mouth.

"Your hair is mussed." Funny word - who says that? Another three drips, triangulating one pec, keeps me from even being to worried that he's making fun of my hair. "Blonde spikes are going everywhere. Or at least, in more seemingly random directions than usual." Three more drops on the other side. I'm getting the hang of this, riding the wave. Doesn't even feel like it's hurting so much anymore. Bit of a sting, still, but a good kinda sting. 

And I'm so hard I think maybe I could get off just from Fraser breathing on my cock. 

"Your eyes are glazed over, only coming into focus briefly when I do this." Holy shit, it makes a difference when he brings the candle closer, so it's just inches above me, and lets the wax dribble onto my neck, right over my adam's apple. Hurts, and I jump, but the rubber and leather in my mouth swallow the little noise my through tries to make, and that's okay, because it was kinda a girly whimper anyway, but Fraser has this way of drawing those noises - lotsa noises, any noises outta me.

Now he's keeping the candle real low, and so much for getting used to it, cause now it's really some serious pain, but my dick still hasn't gotten the message that his hurts, cause it keeps trying to twitch up more towards Fraser, like it's trying to get his attention. "Your neck \- when you have your head back like that, it brings a beautiful curve to your entire body. You have such wonderful lines, Ray."

Don't know how he does that - sounds like he's giving an art review or something. Cool, calm - if I tried to talk right now, not sure I'd even be able to form coherent sentences. But he's - Fraser, he's got that Mountie control, and right now the only way you'd even be able to tell Fraser's as turned on as me right now - well, other than the fact that his jeans right now look several sizes too small, is that look in his eyes - still hungry, still predatory, still promising more. "The wax is leaving patterns on your skin - white drops surrounded by reddened skin. I could write my name on your flesh with the wax, and the skin around it would turn close to the same shade as my Serge. Wouldn't that be an interesting metaphor?"

Fraser's the only guy I know who talks about metaphors in the middle of sex. He's back down to my stomach, and it's really hard to stay still, keep from rolling away, cause it hurts something sharp.

Only it's starting to feel - different. My whole body's starting to feel different. All over, good, maybe. Floating, tingling - golden. Almost like after a fight, only different, more electric, less throbbing. Can almost feel the blood moving through my veins, and these feelings washing over me - almost like a low-grade orgasm, only not all at once, just sort of moving through me, hanging around. 

Candle's moving back up again, and I think Fraser may still be talking, but the words sound like they're coming from a long ways off. More wax \- candle's halfway gone by now - and

Oh, God, Fraser - not there not 

Hurts. Really really hurts; guess that nipple's gonna stay pointy though, cause there's enough wax to hold it in place. And the pain - weird pain - feels almost good. Hurts so bad, it's great. Makes no damn sense, but I'm here and just gonna go with it, cause what else can I do?

And then the other one. Same thing. Hurts, explodes, good, bad, wonderful. Like it's connected straight to my cock, or something, only the pain's all filtered out by the time the message gets down there, and it's all good. 

Now what's he doing? What's he got that knife for? "You'll need to hold still, Ray." That big, sharp, shiny knife that I can't look away from, and this isn't feeling entirely real anymore anyway, so I'm maybe not as concerned as I should be when Fraser brings the edge of it to right below my neck.

The blade is cold, hard, and I can feel the edge against my skin. He draws it carefully down, scraping along my flesh, carving off the wax. I'm afraid to move, but I can't help it - too much too much. The way it scrapes, the fact that there's a *knife* - that Fraser's holding a knife on me and slicing the wax off, and there's not a lot of distance there, between the wax and my skin, none at all before the knife moves in, but he's doing it anyway.

And it's cold, hard, and the spots around the wax are so sensitive there, the feel of it dragging across my skin is enough to make me moan and my hips push up off the bed. 

Only I'm moving, and he told me not too, and I can feel the sharp, stinging bite of the edge breaking skin as I push up against the knife in a way I don't think Fraser was expecting. Just like the wax, this pain just seems to make everything feel better. Crazy. All crazy - especially when Fraser leans down and kisses at the cut, licks it, even sucks on it a little. And that stings like a motherfucker, and throbs like an orgasm all at the same time. 

And he's back to carving, and I'm holding a little better still as he moves across my chest. Only so much a body can take before you start to relax, go with it. Muscles are getting all loopy anyway, kinda liquid. My whole body's starting to feel kinda liquid.

This time I think he cut me on purpose, and there's that scrape-sting combo thing that's really buttering my muffin here. And here my weird vampire-Mountie, and maybe I'd think that was more crazy, if I weren't loving every minute of it. Wish I could tell him just how much, but I think he's maybe picking that up. A few what you might call non-verbal cues.

It's like I'm floating, or sinking, and every touch is starting to feel good, whether it's Fraser pulling the wax off, or cutting me, or dripping more on, or anything. Like my body's to confused right now to tell the difference between a good touch and a bad touch.

It's all good. And when he pulls the cone of wax off my nipple, I'd be screaming if I didn't have the gag, if I could find my throat, which seems as unconnected as the rest of me. 

The knife moves up my thigh, and the wax pulls on the hairs, sharp, stinging pleasure and my body's all over that. Don't know how much more of this I can take, and I guess watching me like this is starting to have some sort of effect on Fraser, cause I can feel his hand starting to shake just a little. Maybe should make me nervous, him with that big knife and all, but it just pushes me a little higher, the thought.

Then he goes for the candle again, and I'm not sure where...he's...is he...

My body goes supernova as the liquid wax hits the head of my cock, and I feel like my whole body comes up off the bed, and it's like I can't even see for a second, it hurts so bad, feels so good. I'm screaming and coming, and nothing's ever felt quite like this, and Fraser's got his mouth around my dick, licking and sucking as I explode.

Don't know how long I lie there, drifting, floating, before I feel like I'm part of my own body again. When the room comes back into focus, Fraser's just sitting next to me, stroking my hair, watching me. Still can't quite move: breathing is the most control I can exert over my muscles right now, and there's still a low-grade prickliness to my entire body, although I still can't tell if it hurts or not.

Fraser unties the gag and pulls it off, leaning down to kiss me. "You look a mess."

"Think that's probably more your fault than mine." Stella used to say I talked mostly without my brain engaged, and I guess this proves it. Lips are moving, sound is coming out, but there's no signal controlling anything, no signal able to get through the haze that's all over me.

It's a simple matter to release the cuffs, and then Fraser traces a finger across the cut right in the middle of my chest, brings it up to his mouth, sucks it clean, and I swear it's one of the most erotic things I ever seen.

"Fraser-"

"Shh." He kisses me again, and now I can taste me on Fraser - my blood, my semen, my saliva. "Stay here. I'm going to go fix some sandwiches for us."

Sure. I'm lying here trying to remember just how my muscles work, and Fraser's gonna go fix sandwiches. How very domestic. How completely surreal. How very my life. 

So I close my eyes, and absently pick at the flakes of wax still on my skin. Hurts a bit - I'm sore, probably going to be even moreso later. But it feels good. I feel good. Alive. 

Never gonna look at those candles the same way again. 


End file.
